Ma Maison C'est Ta Maison
by LadyBastet92
Summary: Seeing Esmeralda cold and alone one night by the cathedral, Quasimodo decides to offer her the only this he has-his home. Inspired by the song of the same title, from the french musical Notre Dame de Paris. Hugo-based, but kind've fluffy.


**A/N: This was inspired by the song of the same title in the French musical **_**Notre Dame de Paris**_**. It's not an exact retelling of the song per say; more like what I imagined what might have happened if it wasn't in musicalverse. I think it's fair to say it's in the Hugo universe since the musical is a faithful adaptation to the novel. And the characters are just their characters, not a representation of the actors who portrayed them. Except the bit about the eyes at the end. I couldn't help it. If you know who I'm referring to, I will love you forever.**

**Also, "Ma maison c'est ta maison" translates into "My house is your house". You know, me casa se tu casa? And I took and altered some lines from the song directly. And there's a line in there that's very similar to a quote from the novel. It's fairly obvious. **

**Anyway, please review, and enjoy!**

He didn't know what to do.

He never thought he would ever dare come this close to her. Yet there she was, only a few feet away, alone in all her perfection. She was a mere speck from his loft in the bell tower, but his sharp eyes could recognize her bright dress and slender figure from afar. Despite his better judgment, he climbed down to get a better look. Now, as he sat behind a statue on Notre Dame's wall, with the woman who had possessed his attentions for the past few weeks so close, he was torn.

It was dusk. The square at Notre Dame was nearly empty, devoid of life. And it was bitingly cold. The bitter February wind swept through the girls' hair, and he saw her shiver. Quasimodo's heart reached out to the poor girl. She sat at the foot of Notre Dame, her exotic beauty still managing to shine through the dreary weather oppressing her. Her arms were wrapped around her legs, trying to shield herself from the unrelenting wind. No matter how beautiful she was, she still looked so miserable, suffering in the cold all alone.

It made Quasimodo nervous to be near someone so stunning, someone he didn't deserve to be near. He should've been up in his bell tower, away from the world where he belonged. Yet why should he let her suffer? Quasimodo wanted so badly to protect her, protect her from the cold, protect her from the world. But it was useless; someone like _her_ would never let someone like _him_ near.

And yet…

Was it really so terrible to try? It was nearly dark, and nobody was about. No one would be around mock or taunt him-except her, of course. His instincts told him that she would react like everyone else, and hate him like everyone else. Yet his heart thought-or hoped, more accurately-that the small bit of kindness she had shown him not so long ago would keep her from hating Quasimodo completely. If he was rejected, his heart would be broken, but he would've expected no less. Quasimodo had early on learned not to expect happiness. Happiness was not meant for someone of his nature. The point of his life was to live as God's example of the living embodiment of sin, and to forever work to redeem himself in hopes of being admitted into heaven; not to bask in the pleasures and privileges of normal men. His life was a life unfamiliar with love and joy. God had molded him for a life of isolation and darkness.

Yet, despite all this, something told Quasimodo that he had to try. Anything to help this poor girl who had stolen his heart with just a drop of water. His concern for the girl was almost at a feverant pitch, as he silently debated with himself on what he could do for her. He felt his confidence rise a little as he realized that he _could _do something for her. For once, Quasimodo had something to offer her. He couldn't give her handsome features or riches, or even the comforts a normal man would have. Instead, he would offer her the only thing he could give her-his home.

As swiftly and carefully as he could, Quasimodo, climbed down from his hiding spot behind the stone apostle, and landed with a thud at the foot of the cathedral. Quasimodo felt his heart sink as Esmeralda's eyes widened with fear. She jumped up from her crouched position and frantically tried to find a way around Quasimodo's imposing figure blocking her escape.

"No, wait," said Quasimodo, without hearing the words come out of his mouth. He knew from the time back when he wasn't deaf that his voice was naturally very rough and course. He hated it; it was a voice as unnatural as his frame. Although he was devastated he day his bells destroyed his hearing, he had learned to work around this handicap. But his deafness was even more of a curse when Esmeralda came into his life. He had often watched her dance and sing on the square as the sun glimmered on the pavement below, sorrowfully mourning that even her voice wouldn't touch him. He imagined her voice as the most beautiful on earth, smooth and clear like the midday sky, yet fiery as her rainbow-colored dress gleaming in the bright morning sun. The voice of an angel. Though Quasimodo's deafness might have spared himself from having to hear his terrible voice, he knew that Esmeralda still could. It probably frightened her even more. It was fitting, that a man who looked like a monster would sound like one too.

Nevertheless, Esmeralda stopped trying to scramble, and instead pressed herself up against the wall defensively. She stared at him, waiting for him to say something more. Or perhaps she was too petrified to move.

Quasimodo was also frozen, at a loss for words. He knew his deafness and unfamiliarity with social situations had branded him as dumb, when he was probably more educated than most people in the city. But all his teachings failed him as he found himself face to face with the woman of his dreams. He wrung his fingers, thinking of what to say, and he knew that Esmeralda must've thought him dumb as well.

Then an idea popped into his head, and he couldn't stop himself before he blurted it out.

"The gargoyles."

Esmeralda relaxed a bit from her defensive position, and started at Quasimodo with her big black eyes with more curiosity then fear. He could see her lips form the words he had just spoken, with a question etched on her face.

"The gargoyles," he repeated, trying to find more confidence in his words. "The protectors. They keep evil and sin away from the pureness of the church." Quasimodo pointed upwards to the sky, where a rough outline of the inanimate creatures could be seen.

Cautiously, Esmeralda tip-toed forward to get a better look. Quasimodo felt his spirits rise a bit as he saw the corners of her mouth turn upward into a slight grin. But when he took a step towards her, Esmeralda quickly moved away from him. Fear and uncertainty were still apparent in her expression, yet something was keeping her from leaving. Disheartened, Quasimodo retreated further away from her, hiding under the grand arch of the door. But when Esmeralda didn't run away, he spoke again.

"They'll protect you," Quasimodo spoke softly from the shadows. "They're my friends. They'll make sure no evil comes to you."

Esmeralda looked confused, but then Quasimodo thought he saw her expression soften. To his surprise, she started walking towards his crouched position in the darkness. Still a bit stunned, Quasimodo took small, tentative steps towards her as well. Both had their heads bowed down, both trying to hide from the other while they came closer and closer together. And for a moment, only a moment, their fingers touched. Miracle of miracles, she _touched _him! Quasimodo felt his heart swell with unimaginable joy from this small gesture, and looked up into her face just has she looked up to see his. As quickly as it happened, the magical moment was over. Esmeralda gasped, and jumped away at the sight of his gruesome face at such a close range.

Heartbroken, Quasimodo retreated into the shadows once again. He knew it was going to happen, but it didn't heal the sting any less. He berated himself for ever having such foolish thoughts, forever trying to talk to her, much less_ touch_ her. He didn't belong with her. A monster like him didn't deserve to be touched by angel.

_It could never happen, it could never happen…_

She didn't know what to do.

He was hideous. She couldn't deny it. His humped back, his one eye, his protruding teeth, all created an image that belonged in a gruesome fairy tale instead of real life. The moment he jumped down from above her, the sight of the creature rippled a deep instinct within Esmeralda, telling her that this hunchback was dangerous and that she had to run.

But curiosity got the best of her. It always had. Curiosity planted her feet to the ground when her instincts were screaming for her to run from his threatening figure. But when he spoke of the gargoyles and their protection, something told her that this man wasn't going to hurt her. She didn't exactly understand what he meant, but the sight of him hunched over and hiding stirred more pity in her then fear. Besides, if he hadn't hurt her by now, he probably wouldn't.

She knew that he was ugly. But she didn't know that he was _that_ ugly. She couldn't help fleeing at the sight of such hideousness. His malformed face so close to her in the shadows terrified her, and for a second she forgot that he was a human. _Monster, _her instincts screamed, _Monster!_

But as her thumbing heart slowed down and the sky's' red hue changed to blue, Esmeralda began to feel guilty. Her instincts told her that this man was a monster, but her heart was telling her that he was very much human. She turned around to see him crouched over in the dark again, muttering into his hands with a sorrowful look on his face. She could tell that pulling away from him had caused him more pain. As disfigured at he was, Esmeralda could recognize human suffering when she saw it.

All was silence, as Esmeralda stood torn about what to do. She wanted to approach him, to make up for what she had done, but part of her was still wary. The instinct still rippled within her. She didn't think that he would hurt her, but she didn't know who he really was.

But she decided that she couldn't leave him as he was. She never liked to see people in pain. Slowly and gently, Esmeralda took a small step towards him and whispered, "The gargoyles…you said they were your friends. Is this…is this your home?"

Quasimodo stared for a moment, as if unsure that she had really spoken to him. Then, he responded in his harsh yet wavering voice, "Yes. This, this is my home. The home of God is my home as well." He smiled wryly, seemly amused by the comparison. "The bells, the gargoyles, the music-it's all mine."

Quasimodo stood up from his feeble position, excitement gradually rising in his voice. "It's my life, my country. It's my world. The bells are my voice, the church my song. It's my freedom and my prison. My reason and my folly. While Notre Dame cages me from the world, it also sets me free."

He was animatedly gesturing up to the magnificent church as he talked, a huge grin breaking out on his face. Yet Esmeralda was confused, by both what he was saying and how he was saying it. How one could be trapped yet free at the same time? Esmeralda didn't understand. But she knew there was much to this man that she didn't understand, and probably never would. To live the tortured life that he had, to be cursed and shunned because of something he couldn't control. His anguished being was as apparent as the distorted contorts on his face.

Then Esmeralda remembered her harsh life as a gypsy, of always being looked down upon with disdain simply because she was who she was. Yet she could still find happiness with the freedom that came with being who she was, the freedom that let her dance. Her life as a gypsy was both a curse and a blessing. Her dark eyes softening, Esmeralda realized that maybe she understood more about Quasimodo then she thought she did. Their comfort was their cage; their passion was their sole possession. The beautiful gypsy girl and the hideous bell ringer-maybe they were more alike then she once thought.

Suddenly, Quasimodo faced her, silent and still again. He covered half his face with his hand, and took a small step towards Esmeralda. When he spoke, he spoke bashfully, yet his sincerity was plain in his voice, his callous voice somehow sounding as tender as a dove.

"It could be your home, if you want."

Like a fire sparking in her head, Esmeralda finally understood. Quasimodo wasn't only offering a place to stay for the night, or the sanctuary of the church. He was offering his _own _protection. His devotion to her was apparent in his expression, and she knew that he honestly cared about her well being. He was never trying to hurt her; he was trying to help her.

"But…why?" asked Esmeralda. Why would the bell ringer offer his protection to a lowly gypsy girl of the street? Why would her life mean anything to him?

Quasimodo smiled sadly, understanding her question even though the darkness made it harder for him to read her lips. "I would give my life for less than the bit of compassion you showed me that day on the square. You may not remember that day. Indeed, why should you waste your memory on someone like me? But a miserable soul like me could not forget an angel like you."

Esmeralda felt tears swell in her eyes. Suddenly, she lurched forward and took the coarse hands of the bell ringers' in hers. She stared directly into the face she was once so afraid of. But this time she did not let go. This time she did not look away. And she noticed something in Quasimodo that she never noticed before.

His eyes.

He had the brightest blue eyes she had even seen. Even under the enormous wart covering one of them, his eyes still seemed to glimmer in the darkness. Esmeralda felt her heart skip a beat in amazement and shock. But then she could feel her heart melt. Somehow, in the dysfunctional disarray of this man and his being, Esmeralda had found beauty. She never would have found it if she hadn't come close enough. Smiling through her watery eyes, Esmeralda found herself glad that she had.

Quasimodo stood shocked for a minute, but when he slowly came back to life, his face grew as bright as his blue eyes. Gripping her hands gently, Quasimodo lead Esmeralda to the door of the church. He whispered in that voice Esmeralda didn't find so hideous anymore, as the darkness engulfed the world and its cruelties, if only for one night.

_"Ma maison c'est ta maison."_


End file.
